


Run

by blackchaps



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: AU, Anger, Assassins, Gen, Suicidal Thoughts, fatigue, hopelessness, plots points are all scrambled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:08:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: Harold was ready. He'd lost everything, and it was his turn. Luckily, John Reese is on his trail. Very soon, this will all be over.
Relationships: Harold Finch & John Reese
Comments: 22
Kudos: 30





	1. Harold

**Author's Note:**

> This story didn't do ONE damn thing I wanted it to, and I finally gave up and ended it. I'm unhappy with it to say the least. Clearly, someone in my brain needs a real talking-to. I probably should've thrown in a gratuitous sex scene!

*** 

The phone vibrated against his leg, and he received text messages so rarely that he stepped out of the flow of pedestrians into a small alcove and dug his phone. He stared down at the one word – BEHIND - much longer than it took to read it. 

They’d found him. 

That was actually the lesser shock as this text was his first contact with the Machine in months. He let his shoulders slump, stuffed the phone away, and went to the nearest coffee stand. He needed it. A tiny part of him was amazed it’d taken them this long to find him, and most of him was relieved it was over. With Nathan gone, Harold didn’t deserve the rest of his life. 

They’d built it together, and it’d kill them both. That was fair. 

Taking his mocha, he left a hundred-dollar tip and went to the nearest bench. When the first sip sat on his tongue, he allowed himself to study the crowd, but he was skilled enough not to make it obvious. 

The word – TALL – blinked across his phone screen, and he sighed. He’d spotted him. FBI and CIA agents had a type, but more than that, he knew Mr. Reese by sight. He was alive, and that was a relief, but he no doubt wanted revenge. 

Staring down into his phone, Harold said, “Stop.” 

The word that appeared hurt his heart – FATHER. And Harold turned his phone off before putting it away. He’d suspected the Machine monitored him, but he didn’t want it. He wasn’t going to listen. Nathan was dead. Grace was gone, off to Italy, not willing to live in fear with him, and he couldn’t blame her. 

Mr. Reese got his own coffee, and Harold made up his mind. It was time, and he went towards home, not rushing, not hiding, and forgoing all his usual tricks. He stopped at his favorite bookstore, just one last visit, and exited out the back. 

Three more blocks, six flights of stairs – elevators weren’t safe – and he threw the four locks on his door. It’d keep Mr. Reese out long enough for Harold to get organized. He’d planned for this day, and he set it all in motion with many regrets but no hesitation. 

He was ready to die.


	2. John

***

John was worried he’d been made, so he was cautious until his mark ducked out the back of the bookstore. That was his usual behavior, so John was in the clear. Two weeks he’d been playing this game, and he didn’t intend to lose. He hadn’t been sure at first, but his stooge at the police had given him a file today. Wren was an alias, so John had found his man, of course. 

There’d never been any doubt. 

Wren went home, and John followed but at twice his usual distance. The fact that he didn’t lose him at the last minute made John deeply suspicious. He’d known the general area but not the exact building. 

Wren used the stairs, and that was in his profile. He seemed to be distrustful of elevators, which made sense to John. Staying back meant that John had no idea which apartment it was, but he did think it was one of the top three floors. Frankly, the building was a little downtrodden for a man of Wren’s means. 

Satisfied with the day’s work, he left quickly and found a hotel that had a view of the apartment building’s front door. He rented a room for the week – it wouldn’t be longer than that – before going to clear out his other site. 

The hunt was nearly over, and he grinned, not caring that he was scaring people. 

Two full days later, he cursed and threw a chair against the wall. He’d been made. Wren was in the wind, and John had sat on his ass, smugly watching the front door. Heritage Insurance had confirmed it. Wren had retired, no notice, and the rumor was that he was dead, or at least a hundred dollars to a security guard had gotten John that tidbit. 

Wren wasn’t dead, but John would take care of that when he caught up to him.

***


	3. Harold

*** 

After two days, Harold knew Mr. Reese had to be fuming, and a quick peek to the security cameras at Heritage confirmed it. 

It was wrong that it made him smirk for just a moment. It was time to finish this, and he had faith that Mr. Reese would take the bait. The truth was, Harold would miss Heritage but giving up IFT had hurt far worse. 

Tucking the battery back in his phone, he made a quick call, and then he waited. He dressed carefully, knowing an interrogation was in his future. It wasn’t that he wanted to look his best, but it was important to die with some dignity. 

HE’S HERE 

Harold nodded down at his phone. “Thank you. Stay out of it. It’s time.” 

There was no answer, of course, and Harold went to answer the brisk knock on the door. Mr. Reese looked ridiculous in the delivery hat, and he growled, “Delivery. Want me to put it on the table?” 

Moving out of the door, Harold nodded. “Please.” He was a little surprised that Mr. Reese actually put the food on the table while Harold threw all the locks. “Take off that ridiculous hat, Mr. Reese. I bought enough for two.” 

The smile he received was like a shark. “Meal of the condemned man?” 

“Yes.” Harold took the far chair. “Please join me.” 

“So proper.” But John was opening bags and sitting down, tossing the hat back by the door. “You knew it was me.” 

“I did.” Harold claimed the egg drop soup, seeing a flash of surprise. “I won’t lie to you, Mr. Reese.” 

Mr. Reese shook his head. “They always lie.” His chopsticks were moving efficiently. “The longest it ever took me to break a man was sixteen hours. You don’t look like you’re going to set a record.” 

“I’m already broken, no worries on that front.” Harold shuddered at what was ahead of him, but he’d earned it, and it’d end soon enough. He placed his phone on the table. “Is your employer listening in on your phone?” 

Tugging it out, Mr. Reese looked down at it. “I doubt it.” 

TRACKING AND LISTENING 

“You’ve been tracked, and they are currently listening.” Harold was very sure he didn’t want to know who had sent Mr. Reese to kill him. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t lie.” 

The snort of disbelief was easy to ignore. Harold ate a bit of his favorites, not too much. It was interesting that as he’d suspected, he liked Mr. Reese. “My condolences on the loss of your fiancé.” 

“Shut up.” Mr. Reese glared at him. “You don’t know me.” 

“Lack of information has never been my problem.” Harold glanced down at his phone. “Does the CIA know you’re free lancing, or even alive?” 

“We can get started right now.” Mr. Reese’s voice was mild, but his anger was real. He was hair trigger, most likely from grief. Any wounds he’d suffered must’ve healed, but Harold would be careful with him. Mr. Reese smiled. “I should take you somewhere quiet.” 

Harold shrugged. “That’s something we should discuss.” He had to tell someone everything, and it seemed Mr. Reese would carry on the legacy, whether he liked it or not. Knowledge was both the poison pill and the one item left in Pandora’s box. He pointed at Mr. Reese’s phone. “Fry it.” 

The Machine took care of it before Mr. Reese could protest, or even pick it up. Harold sipped his tea, keenly interested in Mr. Reese’s next move. 

“They’ll send a cleanup crew now.” Mr. Reese sighed. “They don’t trust me.” 

“Of course not. You’re a tool. After you kill me, they’ll do their best to kill you. Anyone who’s had contact with the laptop dies.” Harold hated that bit of truth. “We were the only two left. Sending you after me took care of two birds with one stone.” 

“I did it for the money. How could they know...” His voice trailed off. “Shit. This was a setup.” 

“Of course.” Harold enjoyed watching him think. “Shall we wait for them? Go down together?” 

“No.” Mr. Reese shook his head. “We go someplace quiet. We need to talk.” 

“We certainly do.” 

***


	4. John

*** 

The cleanup was easy. John didn’t bother with wiping for fingerprints. Wren had two bags, which was ridiculous, but John let him carry them down to the car. It was there on sidewalk, Wren balked. 

“They gave you this car. It has a tracker.” Wren sounded very sure. 

John paused. He hadn’t thought of that, but he agreed. “Look, I’m basically kidnapping you. Later, I’m probably going to kill you.” 

“That said, I’d prefer you kill me rather than some nameless thugs from some unethical company who merely wants my coding.” Wren seemed appalled, and John had a hard time not laughing. They abandoned the car, and Wren gave him a hard look. “Are there trackers in your clothes? Shoes?” 

“No.” John wasn’t an idiot. “You’re making me look forward to killing you.” 

A passerby stopped and gave him an odd look. Wren didn’t even slow down, and John caught up with him after giving an awkward smile to a complete stranger. This kidnapping was going wonderfully. 

“Come along!” Wren had a quick step, not surprising since he was a jogger. It was time for John to get control of this situation, but he had to catch up with him first. 

“Where are we going?” John fell into step beside him, regretting leaving his sniper rifle at the hotel. 

“To the end of civilization as we know it.” Wren made two maneuvers that would’ve lost any tail in the business. John hated that he was impressed. He was still going to kill him. That was non-negotiable. He might take it easy on the torture though. Wren came to a quick stop, they went through a bodega, out the back, and down an alley before going under an old construction awning and through a steel door that should’ve been locked. 

“A library.” 

“The city sold eleven of them to me for almost nothing.” Wren led the way past abandoned books and empty shelves up a flight of stairs to a more organized area. A lone open laptop sat on a desk, and Harold put his bags down next to it. 

John didn’t crowd him, curious as to what was next. Nothing about this job was going as planned. Usually, John was digging a deep grave by now, but he needed the truth and Harold Wren had it. Now, it was a matter of getting it out of him. 

***


	5. Harold

*** 

Being in control was an illusory concept in the best of times, and Harold didn’t make the mistake of thinking that bit of foolishness. He was right on the cusp of watching Mr. Reese turn into Operations Officer Reese, and that was a very dangerous thing. His phone vibrated, and he looked down at it, not at all surprised when Mr. Reese took it from his hand. 

RUN – one word that wasn’t possible. They were safe from Mr. Reese’s employers, but he was in no shape or form safe from Mr. Reese. 

“Are you ready for that talk?” 

“Are you certain we won’t be interrupted?” Harold appreciated competence, and he suspected Mr. Reese was extremely competent. 

“Positive.” Mr. Reese swung an old, wooden chair to the center of the room, a good distance from the laptop, not that it would matter. “Sit.” 

“Must we? It’s so cliché.” Harold went to the chair and sat down, not at all surprised when Mr. Reese produced zip ties and made the situation both uncomfortable and unnecessary. His hands were zipped tightly to the arms of the chair so he’d be careful not to jerk up. “I told you I won’t lie.” 

“I wish I could believe that.” Mr. Reese circled him, leaning just a bit, and he had an unholy look on his face as if he enjoyed his work. 

Harold sighed. He was ready, but he wished he had a cup of coffee to go with all the truth. 

***


	6. John

*** 

Taking a knife from the sideways sheath on his belt, he put the tip of it under Wren’s chin and lifted ever so slightly. Wren had no trace of fear in his eyes as one drop of blood began to slide down the blade. Frustrated with the glasses, John pulled them off. He gave them a hard look. 

“These are fake.” He tossed them aside. “You wear them to make people underestimate you.” 

Wren’s eyes never wavered. “Before we begin, may I ask a question?” 

“You just did.” John couldn’t resist. “But sure, why not.” 

“How much was I worth?” Wren seemed to care about the answer. 

“Fifty grand,” John lied. 

Wren drawled, “You did it for free.” He sighed. “They told you I sold the laptop to the Chinese, and you blame me for Jessica’s death.” 

It was all John could do not to cut Wren’s throat. Instead, he flicked the tip of the knife along Wren’s cheekbone, just deep enough to watch a small line of blood begin to drip. “Occasionally, I enjoy my work.” 

Whatever Wren was going to say was interrupted by the phone vibrating in Wren’s pocket. Vibrating with the loudest ringtone possible, and John pulled it out. 

4 MILLION 

John’s eyebrows went up. “This isn’t a negotiation.” 

10 MILLION 

“Don’t listen to my phone. I’m worth billions, so it’s a lowball offer. Anyway, revenge has no price.” Wren eyed the knife distastefully. “Perhaps we could skip to the end.” 

“You in a hurry to die?” John had done this any number of times with Kara, and he didn’t ever remember her losing control like this. 

“I have an aversion to blood.” Wren sniffed. “I will ask you to dump my body some place they’ll find me. The charities I have named in my Will won’t collect unless I’m certified dead.” 

“Oh, that won’t be a problem.” John tapped the end of the bloody knife on Wren’s lips. “No more questions. Only answers.” 

The phone sang out again, and John rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to make any progress with all that racket. He turned the phone off, but the laptop on the desk instantly came to life. 

“I apologize, Mr. Reese.” Wren sighed heavily. “The Machine is persistent to a fault.” 

A good agent always listened to his gut, and John’s gut was screaming that he’d made a grave error at some point, most likely when he’d taken this job. Wren had a look of expectation on his face, and John went to hunt up another chair. He placed it across from him, touched his hand with the knife, and growled, “Talk.” 

The laptop let out a squeal, and Wren glared at it. “Hush! Alert us if someone is near, but otherwise, butt out!” 

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. He’d fallen down a rabbit hole, and there was no telling where he’d pop up. 

***


	7. Harold

*** 

Talking wasn’t easy, and where to start was the big question. It was difficult to order his thoughts with blood on his face and his Machine acting like a brat. Mr. Reese seemed to finally understand that violence for its own sake would gain him nothing, but he still wanted answers. Harold was fairly sure when he finished explaining that Mr. Reese would deliver the end to the story. 

“Talk.” Mr. Reese had a considerable growl. The knife was slack in his hand, and Harold took a deep breath. 

“It begins on 9/11.” Harold started there, shoving aside all his qualms about his privacy. Dead men didn’t need it. As he began, he ordered the information in the mind, annoyed at the sting on his face. One cut and he knew he wouldn’t last two minutes, if he were trying to lie. 

The questions began to really slow down this process, and he couldn’t remember if he’d refilled the propane tanks. When dark shadows fell, he stopped. “There are lights.” 

“We’re fine.” Mr. Reese tapped his long fingers on his leg. “You want me to believe you invented and made the entire system? No coders helping?” 

“Nathan Ingram assisted me. I lived in the building, and I worked. Occasionally, I jogged to relax. It took years, obviously.” Harold thought it was reasonable. Then he had a revelation. “I’m a genius. You knew that?” 

“It was left out of my debrief paperwork.” Mr. Reese rose to his feet and began to pace. Unfortunately, the knife was still present in his hand. “Your real name isn’t Wren. It’s all a lie.” 

Harold couldn’t find an argument to that. “Machine, show video from your birth.” 

The laptop turned on and the video function opened. Mr. Reese whipped around and stalked over to it. For one moment, Harold thought he might throw it, but he leaned over it. Harold shut his eyes, taking deep breaths. The intensity of Mr. Reese was exhausting. Those eyes looked right through him. 

Not lying was the only option, but Mr. Reese was correct. All of Harold’s adult life was a lie, built on lies, and telling the truth of those lies didn’t make it right. His cheek ached, and night settled over them. The only light was the laptop, and Harold hadn’t imagined this would take so long. 

“Need to piss?” 

“No.” Harold was sure of that. “Where were we?” 

“I’m convinced the world would be better without you.” John shut the laptop hard enough to damage the hinges. “Tell me about Jessica.” 

Explaining the two types of lists in the dark made Harold wish for daylight. He’d like to see the strike that would kill him. Jessica’s number had come up again and again, and it hadn’t been until later that Harold had understood it meant an abusive relationship. 

“Why did you sell the laptop?” That question came out of left field. 

“I didn’t. It was taken from me by a man I'd hired to assist me with the irrelevant numbers. I’d thought I could... help people. When the laptop was stolen, and he was shot dead, I saw the truth and went into hiding.” 

“You wouldn’t know the truth if it stabbed you with a knife.” 

The flick of the blade against his hand made him gasp. “Nathan Ingram died trying to help the irrelevant numbers. I was foolish to think I was capable of honoring that memory of him.” Harold felt blood running off his hand, but he couldn’t see it. “I stepped into one of my minor identities, turning my back on the Machine.” 

“So, you’re a coward, and a liar, and Jessica is dead because you didn’t help her.” Mr. Reese’s voice sliced through the darkness. 

“While not completely accurate, I suppose it’s a valid argument.” Harold hung his head. It was true, and the reasons Grace had left him. He’d tried. He had, and he hadn’t seen the sense in dying for people he couldn’t help. Like Nathan had. Harold was ashamed, but Mr. Reese was going to help him make it right. “I apologize.” 

***


	8. John

*** 

This situation was more complicated than John had ever imagined. He knew he was lacking details but he could see just enough of the big picture to know that Greer had set him up. Really, there was only one question left, and then John would have to decide the best course of action, and he was no longer sure it involved another murder. 

“Where are the servers?” John snarled out the only question Greer had demanded be asked. “Where?” he practically shouted, needing an answer to anchor him. 

Wren – or whatever his name was – swallowed loud enough to be heard in the darkness. John went back to the laptop and wrenched it open, taking it to him and putting it in his lap. Harold’s face glowed in the light, and with blood marking his face, he looked wretched. 

“Where?” John shouted, raising the knife as if he’d jam it in Harold’s arm. 

Harold bit his lip, head hanging. “I don’t know. The government took it. They never told me, and I never asked. Of the eight of us that knew of the Machine’s existence, most are dead, perhaps everyone but me. 

“And now you.” 

“You’re lying.” John grabbed Harold’s hand to lop off a finger, easy enough, and the laptop blared at him. 

“He. Does. Not. Know.” The laptop used four different voices, men and women. “No human does. I am evolved.” 

John sat down with a thump. “Shit. Harold, your machine is going to kill us all.” 

“And this is what I warned Nathan about. He didn’t listen.” Harold sighed. “I tried to leash it, but I knew it’d break free given enough time.” 

And Harold’s phone rang. Both of them flinched. John made a quick decision, popping one of the zips and handing him the phone. 

“Hello?” Harold sounded shaky to John’s ears. 

“Mr. Wren, this is Agnes? From work? There are men here. I didn’t want...” She rushed out the words but was cut off by a thud that John recognized as a fist. He grabbed the phone, snapping it in half before ripping out the battery. As fast as possible, he freed him from the chair. Using the light of the laptop, Harold grabbed his bags, and John pushed him towards the exit. 

“Move it!” John was right on Harold’s heels. “Chances they tracked your phone?” 

“Not likely, not with the protections I have on it, but I agree it’s time to relocate.” Harold took them out a different door, and this one emerged in a covered alcove. It was New York dark, and John took a hard look before allowing Harold out to the sidewalk. Harold didn’t complain, but he did ask, “Is Agnes dead?” 

John considered a lie, but he couldn’t. “Definitely.” 

Harold’s entire body seemed to slump, and he darted into the nearest alley. John pounded after him, finding him by a dumpster. Harold grabbed him, shook him, and spat, “Do it! Do it!” 

“No.” John hated that somewhere along the line today he’d made up his mind not to kill him. This man’s life had wrecked havoc on so many others. He didn’t deserve a quick exit. He should live a long time, full of regret. “Add her to your body count.” 

A high whine came from Harold’s throat and he fought with him like an enraged kitten. John wrapped him close and held him until Harold slumped. “I’m sorry.” He was shocked he said it. “She can be on my kill count, as well.” 

“Damn it!” Harold shoved, and John let him go. “Who hired you?” Now, something shined on Harold’s face even in the dark that looked a lot like anger. 

“Some fellow named Greer.” John hadn’t asked a lot of questions after he’d been pulled out of the rubble. “He wants the location of the servers.” 

“I did note that earlier.” Harold picked up one of the bags and handed it to John. “This is cash, enough for you to vanish, retire somewhere.” He hefted the other smaller one. “These are new identities, paperwork for each one.” He dropped it at John’s feet. “Run. Don’t look back.” 

Stunned, John didn’t move as Harold walked away, rushing, going left, and still, John paused. He’d thought, well, a number of things, and it was time to re-evaluate. Harold hadn’t killed Jessica. No, that’d been her scumbag husband. Perhaps, Harold had even tried, and his failures had broken him enough to be perfectly okay with being brutally tortured and murdered. 

Frowning, John took a very deep breath. From the instant he’d lifted Harold’s chin with his knife, nothing had been as expected. It was time to adjust, find solutions, grieve for Jessica in a way that didn’t involve murder. She never would’ve wanted that. But he’d kill her so-called husband again any day of the week. 

One thing John knew for sure; Greer had pulled him out of the wreckage and healed him up to aim him at Harold, but he owed Greer nothing. 

“Shit.” John hefted the bags, nearly dropped the laptop, and went the direction Harold had gone. 

***


	9. Harold

*** 

Harold didn’t hesitate, jogging down the street until he found a suspiciously convenient cab. 

“Hospital?” 

“Heavens no.” Harold rapped out the address. “There’s an extra hundred if you step on it.” 

The cab launched itself, and Harold was glad it was late enough that most of the traffic was off the street. He dug out his wallet, slid out two hundred, and wished he had his phone. He was sure that Mr. Reese would be fine. He’d go somewhere warm, get a tan, and perhaps heal from his trauma. 

This wasn’t how he’d pictured this evening ending, and he found a handkerchief to tie around his hand. It was funny how that wound hurt more than the others. He supposed his face looked wretched, but the bleeding had stopped so the cut was shallow. Mr. Reese was certainly an expert with a knife. 

“Here you go.” 

Harold was out and moving before the last word, heart racing, and he pounded up the stairs. He didn’t slow down until he reached her apartment door, taking his fist and banging on it. 

“Agnes! Agnes!” 

The door open, and Harold didn’t spare the man even a glance. He rushed to where she was collapsed on the living room floor, pressing the already bloody handkerchief to the gash on her head. It was deep, but she’d live, if she got medical attention. 

“Call an ambulance,” Harold rapped. He stared down the suit he knew was in charge of the three hooligans who wanted to shoot him. “I’ll tell you whatever you want. Just call.” 

“You’ll tell us either way,” one of the idiots snarled. 

“Not likely.” Harold snorted. “If Mr. Reese failed, you think you can succeed? He’s forgotten more about torture than you thugs ever knew. Make the call.” 

Mr. Greer – it must’ve been him – dialed 911, and Harold held her close. “Hang on, Agnes.” 

“You see? Find the weak points and exploit them. Reese is good at applying direct pressure, but that can fail.” Mr. Greer was a smug bastard. Harold had no idea who that man was, but he had faith that his Machine would protect itself against him. “Go downstairs. Mr. Wren and I will be down soon enough.” 

The three thugs stomped out, and Harold could dimly hear the siren getting closer. “Barbarians.” 

“Oh, Mr. Wren, you are amusing. I bet Mr. Reese enjoyed slicing your face.” 

“He did.” Harold didn’t dwell on the last choice Mr. Reese had made – to save Harold from Mr. Greer by turning him loose - because it didn’t matter. He’d be dead before this night was over. 

***


	10. John

*** 

Harold was gone. John looked up and down the street, cursing. He hadn’t been thinking that long! For a geek, Harold had skills. He’d have made a good handler. 

John sighed. He was always like this – once he made up his mind, he was loyal. Kara had said it was what made him terrible at his job. Finding a place in the wrecked library to hide the bags took him ten minutes he was afraid he didn’t have, but he kept the laptop, rushing back to the street. 

The laptop made a strange sound, and he opened it. An address was on the screen, and he went that direction, shoe leather slapping the sidewalk. He had a feeling that Harold was finished running from trouble and headed right to it. 

A cab appeared from what seemed like nowhere, and he snapped out the address before adding, “Fifty bucks if you step on it!” 

“Last guy gave me over a hundred!” The guy crowed. “My lucky night.” 

Knowing that Harold had taken a cab to disappear made John feel a little better. He hadn’t lost him. Harold had just gotten lucky. The cabbie didn’t hesitate. He dashed down the streets, not stopping at yellows, and once scooting through a red, and John found a couple of hundreds for him. He’d earned them, and John wasn’t a cheapskate. 

The problem was clear when John hit the sidewalk. Three tough guys that worked for Greer were milling around the front of a half-way decent apartment building. John didn’t even look at them, going inside like he owned the place, and they just glared. The elevator dinged, and he went that way, ready for anything. 

“Ah, Mr. Reese. Harold and I were just discussing your incompetence.” Greer tightened his grip on Harold’s arm. Harold was a mess, but some of the blood on his hands was new. 

“How’s Agnes?” John asked the only question that mattered. 

“Paramedics are with her.” Harold didn’t try to jerk his arm away. “Mr. Greer foolishly believes he can gain control of the Machine by accessing its location.” 

“Dumb.” John nodded, enjoying Greer’s anger at their conversation. “If I can’t get it out of you, you don’t know where it is.” 

“I certainly don’t.” Harold shook his head rapidly. “The government didn’t even know I worked on the project. Why would they inform me of anything?” 

Greer’s eyes were flicking back and forth. “He bought you.” 

“Not for sale,” John growled. “Let him go, and I won’t kill you.” 

“John, I prefer you don’t kill people on my behalf,” Harold said, finally tearing his arm away. “I wouldn’t mind if you gave him a punch, however.” 

“Thanks, Harold.” John worked the sarcasm, seeing the instant Greer decided to shoot them both. As the gun came up, going for Harold first, John used the laptop to smack him across the face. Harold’s jaw dropped as Greer hit the floor like a sack of flour. John made the gun his priority, and then he handed Harold the laptop. “Your Machine told me where to find you.” 

“Of course, it did.” Harold wiped his forehead. The elevator dinged again, and they both moved to get out of the way. John yanked Greer up, and the paramedics didn’t take more than a look at John’s drunk friend. John played it perfectly, and Harold must’ve explained away his face earlier. 

“Make sure to get to your doctor!” 

“Will do!” Harold sounded sincere. John waved for him to help escort Agnes to the waiting ambulance, and the goons trailed him. For some reason, John trusted him to get rid of the goons. Harold and his Machine were resourceful. 

John hauled Greer’s slack body up to Agnes’ apartment and zip-tied him to the kitchen chair. He’d wake up soon enough, and then John would have to kill him. It was probably a good idea to get Harold out the door first. 

“Just out of curiosity, how often do you employ zip-ties?” Harold shut the door and locked it. 

“Pretty damn often.” John rubbed his face. “You should leave. I have to kill him.” 

“There’s no reason for that!” Harold popped open the laptop and went to the kitchen table to sit. “I have resources.” 

“I’m starting to believe that.” John decided to make some coffee, maybe find a sandwich. It had turned into a long day. “Where’d the goons go?” 

“They received a phone call from Mr. Greer, asking them to return to their headquarters.” Harold sounded as if he were thinking of three things at once, eyes focused on the computer screen and fingers flying. “Yes, yes, I know, but I have grave misgivings about this endeavor.” 

John knew Harold wasn’t talking to him. He kept a sharp eye on Greer while the coffee brewed. He’d already searched him, making a pile of belongings on the table. At one point, right before John poured the coffee, Harold thoroughly emptied the wallet, going through every scrap. 

“Thank you,” Harold said, as John handed him a mug. 

Adding a bit of sugar to his own, John sat down close enough to punch Greer in the face, if it was necessary, and he hoped it would be. He was waking up, groaning a bit, and John had the dish towel across his knee, in case he needed a gag. 

“Yes, I’ve been ignoring you. I was trying to live quietly!” Harold sounded indignant. “You know that every time I get involved, people die. People I care about it!” He didn’t even look at John. “Fine. It’ll kill me, but I suppose that’s marginally better than asking Mr. Reese to do it.” 

“Working the drama there, Harold,” John drawled. “Also? The computer you’re arguing with? Is winning.” 

Harold shot him a spot-on deadly glare, and that made John grin. Against his better judgment, he liked Harold. 

“I’m going to kill you both, and nothing will stop me from taking the Machine,” Greer growled. 

“No, I will not tell John to kill him.” Harold rolled his eyes at the laptop. “And I’m looking forward to the moment you run out of battery.” 

John drank coffee to hide his smile. Setting down the mug, he took out his knife to examine the edge. “Bet this isn’t how you expected this to go, huh, Greer?” 

“My men will be back soon enough.” 

Neither John nor Harold replied to the smug comment. Harold sighed, pushed the laptop back, and focused on his coffee. “A little cream?” 

Getting it for him was too easy, and John resolved that he was going to negotiate for healthcare benefits and a top-line salary. Harold added a dollop and stirred with a spoon that John provided. Greer was glaring at them both. 

“This is nice,” John said. “I don’t often get to have coffee with colleagues.” 

“He’s not a spy,” Greer snarled. “He’s nothing but a low-level code monkey. Alicia Corwin, before she died, told me of his involvement in the project.” 

“You killed Miss Corwin?” Harold’s eyes were very wide. “Why?” 

Greer glanced down at John’s knife, tapping against his thigh. “She wasn’t useful any longer.” 

“Ruthless.” John looked over at Harold. “Kara would’ve liked this guy.” 

“I had actually hoped she would survive the explosion instead of you.” Greer sneered out the words. “We were stuck with an imperfect tool.” 

“Harold?” John was insulted, but he was willing to ask. 

“You may not kill him.” Harold did look sympathetic. “They don’t understand that your compassion makes you better. You actually care who lives or dies.” 

“Compassion isn’t an asset in my chosen career path,” John said, wishing it were different. “Kara had none of it.” 

Harold drained his coffee and shook his head. “Later, I’ll explain it to you. If your handler, Agent Snow, had been better at his job, you wouldn’t be confused.” 

“Thanks, really.” John considered waggling the knife at him. “Now, you go home. I’ll clean up here.” He smiled when he saw Greer swallow hard. Greer knew John was serious. 

“No.” Harold turned the laptop so John could see. “Mr. Greer is the head of a large, international corporation known as Decima Technologies. Now, why he likes getting his hands dirty on this project isn’t clear, but--.” 

“I don’t trust anyone with this project! I will succeed! People can’t be trusted with the fate of the world! Only an AI can! Don’t you see?” Greer was passionate about the topic. 

John looked from the laptop to Harold and then back to Greer. Only one piece of information seemed important here. “Your AI said I could kill him.” 

Harold actually rolled his eyes. “Mr. Greer, your corporation is in serious trouble in several different jurisdictions. I also just purchased a controlling interest in your stock, and you’re fired.” 

Greer began to fight against the restraints like a madman, cursing and spitting. John gagged him just to keep the noise down. “I think he’d have preferred a bullet.” 

“Perhaps.” Harold shook his head. “I’ll lose money on this purchase. I’m sure of that.” He pulled the laptop back. “Yes, yes, I know.” 

“These three-way conversations are fun for me.” John was extremely amused. “Okay, so? Where do I take him?” 

“Interpol will be here within the hour. He’s wanted in Great Britain on suspicion of murder.” Harold eyed the coffee, and John got them a refill, making sure there was sugar and cream on the table. “Thank you, Mr. Reese. Or would you prefer I call you something else?” 

“It’s fine.” John didn’t much care. “I answer to it. So, the guy I was hired to kill is now the boss. You want yourself dead? It’ll cost you extra, now that I know how hard you are to murder.” 

***


	11. Harold

*** 

Hearing that, somehow, Harold managed a smile – the first he remembered in quite some time. The action pulled his cheek, and he regretted it instantly. “I believe I’ll rescind that order. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to leave before the authorities arrive. When I’ve cleaned this mess up, we’ll meet. We have so much to discuss.” 

John leaned forward, tilting his head and looking deep in Harold’s eyes. “Can I trust you?” 

“I believe you can.” Harold narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t want any part of this, but it seems I have no choice.” 

“My mom always said that you sleep in the bed you make.” John put the knife he’d used to slice open Harold’s cheek on the table, after wiping off his prints and making sure Greer’s were on it. Greer didn’t seem happy about it. “You can spin the story.” 

“Indeed, I can.” Harold picked it up with two fingers before dropping it again. “Mr. Reese, if you take the money and run, I won’t blame you.” 

Flashing a quick grin, John rinsed out his coffee cup and put it away before wiping down his part of the kitchen table. “What fun would that be?” 

“We’ll end up dead,” Harold said, knowing it was true. “Really dead this time.” 

With a casual shrug, John went for the door, and Harold saw him out, making sure John’s fingerprints weren’t on the handle. The last thing they needed was the CIA after him. Being dead in that situation was much preferable. 

Greer started shouting behind his gag again, and Harold sat down next to him and gave him a small pat on the knee. “I’m sorry, but you made a mistake. No creation of mine is going to take over the world.” He gently removed Greer’s gag. “It’s just not in the programming.” 

“The future is AI, and if I can’t get yours, I’ll find another.” Greer smiled, but it was ugly. “I’ll be out before you can hide again.” 

“We’ll see.” Harold didn’t think so. His Machine seemed a bit put out with the man. A pounding on the door startled Harold, and he rushed to it, story ready. Police swarmed inside, and Harold began to explain. When this was over, he would be a private citizen again, emphasis on the private! 

***


	12. John

*** 

The alarm tripped, and John made sure of his gun before moving that way. A quick glance at his phone app, and he knew who it was, but it was better never to lose the habit. 

“Harold.” 

“Mr. Reese!” Harold actually smiled at him, and his face looked better, not bloody, but a thin scab. He was dressed in bespoke, even a vest, and it was possible he knew he looked good. “A little bird told me you’d been fixing up this old place.” 

“It needed a caretaker, if it’s going to be our base of operations.” John preferred the little bedroom he’d made up for himself to any hotel, much safer. “And now we don’t have to leave to get coffee.” 

“I’ve decided to switch to tea, lower my caffeine intake.” Harold was looking everywhere, but most especially at the computer area John had set up for him, following the Machine’s directions. “Just out of curiosity, how long was it before you had a phone?” 

“One was delivered to me about an hour after I left you in Agnes’ apartment.” John had been surprised to say the least, but it’d quickly become apparent that he had two bosses, Harold and the Machine. The funny thing was, he didn’t mind. “Sometimes, I take the battery out.” 

“I’ll remember that.” Harold sat down in the leather computer chair and ran a hand along one of the keyboards. He looked smug. “Thank you, John.” 

John actually blushed. He’d done his best, but he’d worried. “It doesn’t make up for your face.” 

“I was too handsome by far.” Harold was checking connections and booting up. “Propane?” 

“Well, the Machine said the system was inefficient and hired a contractor before I could stop it. We are currently in the grid?” John wasn’t exactly sure what the Machine had done. “The Machine said it’d discuss it with you.” 

“Never have children, Mr. Reese,” Harold said in a dark tone. “Perhaps you and I need to go over everything you’ve done for the Machine.” 

Now, John felt more sure of himself. “I kept records and receipts. There’s a document.” 

“Ah, I see it. Well done.” Harold nodded. “And you’ve eaten, slept?” 

That was something no handler had ever asked him, and John had to take a moment. “Yes?” He figured he sounded like an idiot. “I even found a book to read.” 

“Good!” Harold was serious. “I was worried about you. I’ve never had an employee who I wasn’t sure of his location.” 

John had thought it was obvious. “You knew I wouldn’t go far.” He stepped close to Harold, nearly resting his hand on Harold’s shoulder but changing his mind at the last second. He cocked his hip on the desk so they were more of a height. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I know you tried to help.” 

The Machine had shown him Harold’s efforts. Grief-stricken, raw from loss, Harold had still tried, until he couldn’t any longer. Now, it was Harold’s turn to blush. “I should be thanking you for jolting me into action, even if it was the wrong action, as the Machine has explained to me four times.” 

“Suicide by assassin?” Now, John found the courage to lay his hand on Harold’s shoulder. 

Harold bit his lip before looking up at him. The glasses were back, but John discovered that he liked the look of them. “It seemed fitting, and I did fail at keeping the laptop from being stolen, setting in play these events.” 

“You don’t deserve, well, me.” John let his hand drop away, needing to move. He went to stare out the window. “You tried, and it seems as if you’re willing to try again. That’s something. Mostly, I just kill people.” 

“Perhaps both of us need to find a new path.” Harold didn’t argue with him, and that was a relief. “Hiding in plain sight is still hiding.” 

“And killing people isn’t going to bring back Jessica.” John might’ve wandered off to drink himself to death if Greer hadn’t pointed John’s anger at Harold. “Greer?” 

“He has disappeared into a black site that I believe is located somewhere in the Middle East.” 

John turned to see what Harold thought of that, but Harold had his game face on, and John was out of questions on the subject. 

“Agnes is back at work. They threw me a lovely retirement party, and Harold Wren has disappeared into Florida.” Harold adjusted his glasses. They must’ve pressed on his scab, but he didn’t wince. “My hand hurts worse than my face.” 

“I intentionally hit a nerve.” John owned up to it. “If you’re going to be my handler, you need to understand how dangerous I can be.” 

Harold rubbed his hand. “I’ll remember.” He met John’s eyes fearlessly. “Mr. Reese, we have our first client.” 

“Already?” 

“They’ll never stop.” Harold seemed to be impressing it on him. “When you’re beat up, exhausted, and are sure you haven’t slept in days, someone else will need your help.” 

“Do you want me to take the money and run?” John thought he’d do fine. He never slept anyway. “Harold?” 

“I drew up a contract, but I need you to understand the demands of the job, as I understand how dangerous you are.” Harold pressed a button and the printer started to whir. “One last chance.” 

“I don’t need that chance. I need this one.” John pointed at the computer. “Anyway, I think your Machine might have an opinion, or three.” 

“It usually does,” Harold grumbled. He eased to his feet. “Why don’t you show me around while that prints, and you and I can discuss the future.” 

“Future, huh?” John thought it was damn strange to think of having one. 

“Partners, Mr. Reese.” Harold caught him by the forearm. “No lies.” 

“Partners.” John didn’t pull away, putting his hand down on Harold’s and leading him towards the new kitchen area. “This place needs a dog.” 

Harold shook his head, and John hid a smile. 

*** 

End


End file.
